Chapter Text
"Daddy, Uncle Charlie said he was going to whallop us!" Victoire Weasley tattled on her uncle to her father when she dashed into the kitchen, out of breath and with a skinned elbow from loosing her footing on the stairs running with Teddy.
"He said he'd give us a hiding," Teddy nodded, also puffing, his hair bright purple as he leaned against the table trying to catch his breath while his godfather nuzzled into his godmother.
"And you'd bloody deserve it after that racket up there," Ron grumbled sleepily from his seat at the table where he was trying to keep his eyes open and failing rather miserably.
"That's what Uncle Charlie said," Teddy nodded, frowning a little.
Hermione came to a stop in the kitchen to find everyone else already there, scattered about the space in various stages of wakefulness. Charlie's arm was still wrapped around her shoulders and though she'd been teasing him, she realized suddenly that they were wearing matching pyjamas and everyone was going to know just where she'd spent the night.
"Hermione?" Harry asked, spotting her when he lifted his head from where he'd been snuggling his cheek against the top of Ginny's head affectionately. "I didn't hear you arrive, love. Happy Christmas."
Hermione smiled a little, adoring her friend for being so utterly oblivious, sometimes.
"Happy Christmas, Harry," Hermione offered, rather than correcting him on her 'arrival' at the Burrow for the morning.
Of course, she hardly needed to with two tattling children on the loose.
"She didn't arrive, Uncle Harry," Victoire said, somewhat sneeringly, in Hermione's opinion. "She never left. She was crushing Uncle Charlie up there."
"Crushing?" Charlie scoffed immediately, apparently not at all concerned at having his family know just where she'd spent the night. "Her? Tiny little witch like that?"
"Thank you," Hermione mumbled, blushing and looking at her feet.
"Back up to your old tricks, love?" Harry chuckled.
"What tricks?" Hermione asked, frowning at her best friend in confusion.
"She slept on your back, didn't she, Charlie?" Harry grinned, appealing to the Dragon Tamer.
"Mmm," Charlie hummed and from the smug smile on his face, he couldn't be happier about that very fact. "Done it before, has she?"
"Not in years," Harry shook his head. "Not since we were on the run, Horcrux hunting."
"What are you talking about, Harry?" Ron raised his eyebrows, still looking mostly asleep, though that might be owed to the sneaky way Goyle was trailing his fingertips over Ron's back through his pyjamas.
"After you left, when it got really cold, we'd sometimes share the cot for warmth," Harry shrugged. "A few times, when she was really tired and weighed down from carrying the Horcrux, I'd wake up with Hermione sprawled across my back."
"Naked?" Goyle asked.
Harry laughed.
"We don't all sleep in the nude like Ron does, mate," Harry said good-naturedly. "No, it was always completely innocent. Fully clothed, no funny business… she just… slept on my back."
"Well, now I don't feel so special," Charlie said, his arm slithering from Hermione's shoulders. "Morning, Mum. Happy Christmas, yeah? Any chance of a coffee?"
Molly Weasley – who, until they'd arrived had been happily cooking to feed her large family – stood limply clutching an egg-flip, her mouth hanging open as she looked between her second son and the girl that she'd been sure her sixth son would someday marry. Charlie approached and patted her shoulder in a way she assumed he intended to be reassuring, but that mostly just confused her all the more.
Hermione… and… Charlie?
How could this be? They… just last night, they'd argued…
Sensing that this would not be the opportune moment to demand answers out of Charlie – knowing he could be as cantankerous as one of his dragons in the morning until he had a nice strong cup of coffee and a hearty breakfast – Molly blinked and tried to contain her curiosity and confusion.
"Happy Christmas, dear," she said mildly, the words coming out a little strangled as she tried valiantly to regain her equilibrium. "There's only instant coffee, I'm afraid. The can is over by the kettle."
Her eyes traced over her son when he nodded before he sauntered in the direction of the kettle and set about fixing himself a coffee. He didn't look any more disheveled than usual, and his neck and ears weren't aglow with embarrassment despite Victoire having outed the 'secret' of Hermione sleeping over.
Perhaps it had been innocent.
Hermione had spent the night many times before, of course, and she was always welcome. Perhaps she had simply decided to stay and, with no spare rooms or beds available, had accepted a gallant and gentlemanly off from Charlie that they share his bed. It was plausible. She doubted very much that any of her sons would ever do anything untoward in regard to a potential partner, or a friend. Molly frowned to herself as she turned back to the bacon and sausage she was frying up for their breakfast.
Hermione and Charlie?
Charlie and Hermione?
No. Surely not. There was nothing there. Molly would've noticed by now if there was. They might share an unhealthy interest in magical creatures, but surely there was nothing more between them. Shaking her head to herself, Molly resolved to put it out of her mind for the time being.
"Need coffee," Hermione could be heard muttering when the children began to nag about it being present time now that everyone was accounted for and out of bed.
Molly watched out the corner of her eye as Charlie fished a second mug from the high shelf and began fixing Hermione a cup of coffee too, apparently hearing the young woman's assertion and willing to fix it.
"So, you slept over, eh Hermione?" Fred piped up from the table only after the witch had lifted her freshly made mug of coffee to her lips and taken a few liberal gulps.
"What's it to you?" Hermione asked, somewhat defensively.
"Been a long time since you slept over in the Burrow, hasn't it?" George asked.
"As long as whenever you and Ron called it quits, I'd reckon," Fred agreed.
"Do you have a point?" Hermione wanted to know, narrowing her eyes on the twins.
"I see you're just a friendly as ever first thing in the mornings," Ron commented, looking somewhat amused.
"Like you're any better?" Hermione shot back.
"All I'm saying is, let's not even consider kids, yeah Greg?" Ron appealed to his boyfriend and Molly winced at the very thought of any one of her children refraining from the wonders of parenthood.
"I prefer sleep," Goyle grumbled, nodding his head in agreement when Ron twisted slightly, pillowing his cheeks against Goyle's broad back.
"And uninterrupted… shenanigans," Ron agreed, darting a look at the children when they came bursting back into the kitchen, impatient for presents.
"Yeah," Goyle agreed.
"Both of those things are definitely preferable to noisy brats," Charlie agreed, nudging Hermione with his elbow when she began vaguely searching for something.
Molly frowned a little more as she watched Charlie hand over the bowl of sugar cubes to the witch, who proceeded to dump two lumps into her coffee before using her index finger to stir it like a complete heathen. When she took her next mouthful, she sighed, and Molly noticed the way she inadvertently leaned into Charlie's side.
"Please can we open our presents now?" Victoire demanded, her hands on her hips as she glared at them all from the doorway into the living room.
"Blimey you two are whiny," Fred grumbled.
"Bloody annoying," George agreed.
"Boys," Molly scolded. "Be nice. You were just as eager for gifts in your youth."
"As though we're no longer youthful?" George piped up indignantly.
"As though we're now rendered to the realm of old geezers?" Fred huffed.
"What does she take us for?" George asked.
"Codgers?" Fred suggested.
"Old farts?" George wanted to know.
"Grumpy old men whose best days are far behind them?" said Fred
"And before we've even given her grandchildren," George said contrarily.
"Well, that's a mother's love for you, isn't it?" Fred grumbled. "No longer adorable enough for cheek pinching and so we're just cast aside."
"Unwanted."
"Unloved."
"Forgotten."
"Replaced."
"You'll both need replacing in the bloody family if you two don't shut it," Charlie threatened darkly, scowling over the rim of his coffee.
"Hear that, Gred?" George cried.
"Death threats! And on Christmas, too," Fred gasped, clutching his chest as though wounded.
"Some family," George grumbled.
Molly opened her mouth to put a lid on their dramatics, but before she could say a word, Luna reached over and patted George's cheek comfortingly, smiling vaguely.
"Did you know you've got a wrackspurt, darling?" she asked dreamily, looking rather intrigued. "It's gone in your ear and making you forget that we all love you."
George opened his mouth to tell her they were only joking, before looking over at Fred helplessly, frowning and shaking his head. Fred rolled his eyes, surreptitiously smoothing a hand over Angelina's back as though grateful he'd married a sensible woman.
"How do I get rid of it, love?" George asked of his wife, smiling at her adoringly and making Molly remember that for all her oddities, her son really did love the blonde witch.
"I'm not sure," Luna said. "Maybe if I…"
She went up on her toes and pressed her lips to George ear before blowing gently.
"What's a wrackspurt?" Charlie could be heard muttering to Hermione.
"You don't want to know," Hermione rolled her eyes. "I was told there would be gifts if I surfaced from the depths of unconsciousness."
"Now you're nagging, too?" Ron grumbled.
"Ronald, if you give me that tone again, I'm going to hex your ears right off. And then how will you blush, hmmm?" Hermione demanded meanly.
"Grumpy in the mornings, aren't you, Granger?" Goyle smirked slyly. "And here I'd have thought you'd be in a thumping good mood after last night, eh?"
"Do you remember the time we drugged a muffin and had you beaten and left in a broom closet in only your knickers, Gregory?" Hermione asked nastily, narrowing her eyes on Goyle.
"Do you remember that time we hexed you and your teeth grew even bigger, like a beaver's?" Goyle retorted.
"I'm not above doing it again," Hermione warned him. "Never forget that."
"Are you always this friendly in the mornings, love?" Charlie asked, looking wickedly amused when Goyle flicked her the forks.
"Eat me, Weasley," Hermione said, as though forgetting that she was in company.
Molly clucked her tongue disapprovingly, her eyes widening when Charlie leaned in to whisper something to Hermione. She dropped her egg-flip when she distinctly heard her son mutter; "I already did, upstairs."
"Presents, everyone!" Arthur called just as Molly gasped in shock, turning in scandalized horror.
Before she could say anything, Charlie looped his arm around Hermione's shoulders and steered her toward the living room, leaving Molly standing there gobsmacked.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Charlie couldn't help but laugh as he watched Hermione slowly come alive the more coffee she ingested. He was no soft kitten first thing in the morning, himself, but she was something else entirely. She actually emitted a low sound like a growl when Victoire had shrieked in delight at one of her Christmas gifts. Coaxing her into the land of pleasantness and manners was a marathon that involved more than one cup of coffee, and several gifts before she even cracked a smile.
It amused him to no end.
After all their presents had been exchanged and ripped open – leaving the living room a war-zone of wrapping paper, ribbon, and random individual piles of each person's loot – they'd all returned to the kitchen to dive into the enormous breakfast Mum had cooked. It was clear to Charlie that his siblings all had their suspicions about just what kind of sleepover he and Hermione had indulged in, and he was surprised at their lack of teasing.
"Suppose we ought to change into real clothes," Bill said after breakfast had been devoured and there were all leaning back into their chairs sporting contentedly full bellies and sleepy smiles.
"It's too cold for real clothes," Ron grumbled, apparently content in his flannels and his bath-robe.
"Me and Hermione have to run a quick errand from her clinic," Charlie announced. "Better get dressed."
"What errand?" Harry wanted to know.
"Its bloody Christmas. I think it can wait," Ron argued.
"Why do you need to help?" Ginny asked nosily.
"Is everything alright?" Luna asked, frowning.
Hermione – who'd been given an ungodly stack of books for Christmas – wasn't even listening. She'd retreated from the kitchen table and into an armchair in view of the table where she'd curled up and begun to read.
Charlie looked in her direction for a long moment, wondering if she was going to answer her friends or if it would fall to him. She didn't look up, turning the page in her book and reading on.
"It can't wait," Charlie informed. "And Harry, I think it might be best if you come along to the clinic with us."
Harry frowned seriously.
"What's happened?" he asked, clearly sensing his presence would be in his capacity as an Auror.
"Someone's trying to get Hermione killed," Charlie said gruffly, frowning.
"What?!" Harry growled.
"They better think again," Ron threatened, his eyes narrowing.
"Who?" Ginny demanded.
"Hermione! What's happened?"
Hermione looked over at the sound of her name.
"Any of you know what Frostfangs dragons are?" Charlie asked, raising one eyebrow at his family as they all listened in earnest now.
"Dragons, obviously," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
"Dragons with the ability to end the world," Luna said, her expression shrewd. "This blizzard isn't natural, is it? I told Daddy that it wasn't."
"The night before last someone dumped a crate of twelve Frsotfang eggs into Hermione's care and Disapparated," Charlie told them, recapping the story Hermione had shared with him quickly.
"But those are terribly difficult to obtain," Luna pointed out. "Why would anyone go to the trouble of stealing them, only to give them to Hermione?"
"Because the sentence for being in possession of even one Frostfang egg is the Dementor's Kiss," Harry answered grimly. "Without a license, Hermione would be arrested on suspicion of trafficking, and for acts of magical terrorism. I remember reading the laws on that for my Auror exams."
"Bloody hell," Ron said. "Hermione, are you alright? Who've you pissed off?"
Hermione sighed.
"Anyone who takes issue with my Foundation, I'd imagine," she answered, rising to her feet and crossing the kitchen to set her mug in the sink.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry frowned at her.
"I didn't realise what they were. When the chap approached me as I was locking up and dumped them on me, I thought he must've been a backyard breeder who didn't know what to do with some ill-gotten eggs. I mistook them for Swedish Shortsnout eggs and almost cooked the lot of them, actually. When I was telling Charlie about them last night – thinking he might be able to take them to the Romanian reserve when he returns – he set me straight on what they were and how dangerous it was to be in possession of them."
"What do we do?" Ron asked. "Blimey, Hermione, you could be in big trouble. Harry, mate, this all strictly off-record, yeah?"
"'Course it bloody is," Harry rolled his eyes.
"I've filled out all the paperwork," Charlie waved away their concerns. "I'm licensed to keep them and signed a bunch of forms at Hermione's clinic. But we've got to get them back to their nest on the Frostfang Sanctuary today, or this blizzard will never end."
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered.
"Did you recognize the bloke who dumped them on you, Granger?" Goyle asked.
Hermione shook her head. "He was tall. A bit shorter than Charlie. But other than that, he had his hood up and it was dark. He shoved the crate into my arms and Disapparated straight away. To be perfectly honest, I thought it was a Death Eater attack when he first loomed out of the darkness."
Goyle nodded, while the others all looked horrified. It was no secret that despite Harry's efforts in the MLE, there were still a few Death Eaters who'd managed to evade persecution all this time.
"Tall and skinny?" Goyle asked. "Or built like me."
He rose to his feet, pulling the hood of his bathrobe up over his head and looming over her a little.
"A bit wirier than you," Hermione said speculatively, looking him up and down. "Shorter than you, too."
"Did he say anything? Would you recognize his voice?"
Hermione shook her head. "He didn't speak, just shoved the box at me. I had to catch it or drop it. He wasn't sticking around to hold it up if I fumbled."
"Who've you pissed off the most, recently?" Ron asked, and Charlie noticed that he looked like he thought Hermione pissed people off quite often.
"No one in particular," Hermione said, frowning.
"Yeah, right," Ron rolled his eyes.
"There are a lot of folk put out about your clinic, Granger," Goyle said, pushing his hood back off his head and crossing his arms over his chest. "A lot of people with deep pockets had an interest in seeing that Bill of Harvest passed. Even my Mum was ranting about it a while back, furious about the idea of werewolves and vampires skulking about so close to Diagon Alley."
"As though she doesn't spend half her time in Knockturn Alley, herself?" Hermione asked meanly.
Goyle's left eye twitched.
"To be honest, I'm surprised no one's tried something like this to get you shut down before now," Goyle told her. "My mum isn't the only one who thinks ill of you for your Foundation."
"This isn't the first time someone's tried different things to scare me off or close me down," Hermione rolled her eyes. "There've been others. Picketers. Hexers. Someone owled me a crate full of dead puppies a few months ago. Close to the full moons, some of the other businesspeople who own shops in Knockturn Alley howl when they see me coming. One threw a bucket of blood over me a while ago, saying I'd make perfect vampire bait, and then they'd see if I still wanted to help those 'bloodsucking leeches'. No one's ever gone so far as to dump illegal dragon eggs into my care before, but it's not the first incident I've had since opening."
"Your clinic is in Knockturn Alley?" Charlie asked, frowning at her. "Hermione, it's dodgy down there."
She rolled her eyes at him.
"It is," she agreed. "And it's where a good sixty percent of my patients wash up. You don't see the werewolves and the vampires in Diagon Alley, do you? No, they skulk in the shadows and live on the fringes until I get hold of them and give them access to a better life."
"Doesn't it affect legitimate magizoologist business if people have to venture into Knockturn Alley to see you?" Charlie asked.
Hermione gave a low and somewhat mean laugh.
"When they might get to see 'that celebrity, Hermione Granger, the girl who helped take down Voldemort'?" she asked. "Most of them imagine that if I've setup shop in a place like Knockturn Alley, it must be safe, now. I'm not the only non-dodgy shop-owner down there anymore. The MLE have cleared out a lot of the rabble, and those businesses still in operation might still deal in the Darker Arts, but they're regulated, and their trade is legal. A fair chunk of the stigma has washed away since the war and the frequent raids that shut down all the bad stops."
"It's true," Fred piped up. "There's a few café's and a pub opened up down there, and I heard there's going to be a new bookshop going into the empty shop across from Hermione's clinic. A beauty salon opened up a few months back, and I think there's an Apothecary next you now, isn't there, Hermione?"
Hermione nodded. "It's slowly being reclaimed by legitimate tradespeople. I heard Honeydukes might be taking the empty shop four doors down from mine – opening a secondary location. If that happens, the Alley will be flooded with families, and then the Ministry will have to weed out the last of the troublemakers."
"You'll never get rid of some of them," Goyle shook his head. "Borgin and Burke's is still there. And the Crooked Wand will always be a dirty brothel. Last I spoke to Malfoy, he was thinking of buying the old block on the corner down by Mulciber's."
"I've been trying to figure out what that building is for ages," Hermione frowned, turning to Goyle at the announcement. "It's all boarded up and well-warded, but I often see people coming and going from there."
Goyle's mouth twitched like he wanted to sneer that she'd never know, but he didn't.
"Probably best you don't know what that place is, Granger," he said quietly. "Don't reckon you'd take too kindly to it."
"Why?" Hermione demanded, scowling.
Harry sighed.
"It's a… boxing ring, among other things," Harry told her.
"Wizards box?" Hermione frowned.
"He means it's a pit fighting ring, Hermione," Bill told her. "The Gringotts Goblins are fond of it. Those shadows your werewolves and your vampires lurk in tend to originate from there, I'd reckon. I've been there once or twice. It's… not a nice place."
"A pit fight?" she demanded. "As in, they take magical creatures there and pit them against each other? Some sick bastards are conducting that kind of slavery and abuse just down the street from me?"
"It's now slavery," Goyle shook his head. "Believe me, the Ministry's been trying to shut them down for years. Everyone who steps into one of those pits to fight does it of his own free will."
"What are you saying?" Hermione asked.
"That some blokes like a good duel where there are no rules," Bill said grimly. "Some creatures, too. You've got to remember, Hermione, that creatures like goblins might be clever as they come, but they're mean and they're bloodthirsty, too. They didn't fight all those wars without a deep instinct to rip each other limb from limb, you know. And they're not the only ones. A lot of the werewolves in the wizarding world jump at the chance to rip the shit out of each other. Claws, fangs, you name it. There're no rules down there. Before the war and the Ministry got hold of them again, there wasn't even a rule against non-human creatures killing each other."
"What?" Hermione gasped, looking horrified.
"No one cares if a pair of goblins beat each other to death, Granger," Goyle told her. "Especially if they enter into the fight willingly. Who cares if two vampires slaughter each other? Who doesn't want to watch two werewolves rip each other to bits? On full moon nights, fighters go into the cage and it gets locked. You wouldn't believe how much money people will pay to watch a pair of werewolves kill each other when they're guaranteed to remain safe beyond the bars. Malfoy says it's one of the most lucrative businesses around. Course, all your laws prevent 'em from killing each other anymore, but tranquilizers are cheap and the crowd still pay big to be that close to a werewolf on the full moon."
Hermione was shaking her head from side to side, her eyes narrowed hatefully and her lips pressed together in a tight line.
"Why would anyone enter into that willingly?" Ginny was frowning.
"Money," Bill told her. "Contestants both get a paycheck, and the winner gets a decent pot of galleons. Most of the people down there are hard up for luck, fresh out of cash, or just in it for the blood. They have to be willing. There are wards on the place to prevent anyone entering under duress. But if they're desperate enough for the money, or just a good fight, they're allowed in."
"This takes place right down the street from my Foundation?" she demanded.
"Mmmm," Goyle nodded. "Told you that you wouldn't want to know."
"The werewolves who show up on the doorstep of my clinic first thing after a full moon, in need of being patched up?" Hermione asked.
"Probably the previous night's entertainment from inside the cage," Goyle nodded.
Charlie frowned, noting Hermione' thunderstruck expression. Her eyes narrowed to deadly slits and a crackle of purple magic fizzed through her curls, her lips pursing angrily and her hands curling into fists.
"Is that right?" she asked tightly.
"'Fraid so," Goyle nodded, not looking in the slightest repentant about telling her and upsetting her.
"I've tried to shut them down, Hermione," Harry offered. "Unfortunately, what they do is currently still legal, even with the laws in place that you wrote to protect magical creatures like the werewolves and vampires. Unfortunately, if they want to fight and both parties enter into it willingly, it falls under the Sports and Recreation department's jurisdiction. A bit like muggle boxing and martial arts."
"So, a good number of the creatures turning up at my door bloody and beaten did so for money, of their own free will, and then they come to me hoping for sympathy? That's what you're telling me?"
"Not so thrilled about being in the health service business now, eh, Granger?" Goyle said, smirking. "Doesn't make you feel quite so good about yourself to be patching someone up for things they did to themselves, does it?"
More magic crackled through Hermione's curls.
"I'm going home," she announced. "I need to change."
Charlie frowned worriedly, not at all liking the way she looked ready to rip someone limb from limb, herself.
She didn't say anything else before turning on her heels, collecting her gifts, and climbing through the Floo.
"Did you have to tell her about The Ring?" Ron asked, shooting a somewhat annoyed sideways glance at his boyfriend.
"She was going to figure it out sooner or later," Goyle shrugged defensively. "Malfoy's serious about buying it and turning it into something that will draw a bigger crowd and earn an even bigger profit. With her clinic just down the road, she had a right to know."
"Yeah, well," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'd reckon you'd better let Malfoy know that he'll have some competition for buying it."
Goyle frowned.
"You want it?" he asked.
Harry laughed meanly.
"Not me," he shook his head.
"Hermione," Ron sighed. "She'll buy it out from under him and shut it down. She'll dissemble the place brick by bloody brick with her bare hands if she thinks it'll be to the benefit of her precious creatures."
"She doesn't have that kind of cash," Goyle rolled his eyes.
"Oh, she does," Ron grumbled, shaking his head. "Her parents are from old money, and her Gran left her everything when she passed. Hermione's probably got more money than you."
"Even if that's true, she won't have more than Malfoy," Goyle argued. "He'll pay big to get his hands on that place."
"As though Hermione isn't in a position to wrap Malfoy around her little finger and make him do whatever she wants, even if he does buy it?" Ron challenged, raising one eyebrow at his boyfriend.
Goyle narrowed his eyes a little.
"What do you know about it?" he asked suspiciously.
"What does anyone know about it, if they want to keep from being hexed by either Hermione or Malfoy?" Ron countered.
Charlie narrowed his eyes, listening intently and wondering what it was they were referring to. The obvious seemed, well… too obvious… and Hermione had said that she hadn't slept with anyone in three years. Had she lied to him, thinking it might be what he wanted to hear? Had she claimed a lack of recent attention to make him feel better about the long dry-spells in his own love life thanks to his job? Was she just toying with him?
Worse; was there something going on between her and Malfoy?
Charlie opened his mouth to ask that very question, but before he could, Bill nudged his shoulder.
"Come on, little brother," he muttered, grinning a little bit. "Better get dressed and deal with those dragons, yeah?"
Charlie glanced over at his older brother, frowning and not wanting to vacate the conversation right at that second. Before he could say as much, he caught sight of the expression on Bill's face. Charlie knew it from a lifetime of brotherhood and friendship with the man. That look said no argument would be brooked, and that they needed to discuss something not fit for everyone else's ears.
Scowling, Charlie got to his feet and followed his brother out of the kitchen, his mind burning with questions.